The Campaign
by Linstock
Summary: Never say never to Nyota Uhura, as Spock finds out.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Campaign

Author: Linstock

Code: Spock/Uhura

Rating: NC-17

Type: One Shot.

Summary: Never say never to Nyota Uhura, as Spock finds out.

AU: This was written in response to an old challenge by Recumbentgoat I stumbled over while surfing. In the spirit of better late than never my muse got cracking. The challenge is TOS but I have assumed that there is already a well established relationship between Spock and Uhura. It seemed to me that sex on the bridge would only occur with some "provocation". Let the provocation begin.

I can not thank my beta readers enough. They were outstanding when patiently and gently correcting my numerous gramma and spelling bloopers and suggesting improvements. I have a lot to learn and can not thank The Night Was Moist and AtanaM enough for their generosity. The errors are all my own work.

This is my first attempt at writing naughtiness so please be gentle. Comments and constructive criticism are very welcome.

**The Campaign**

For four long weeks, pirates have been harrying the _Enterprise_ and we have sustained some serious damage. On top of that, half the crew has come down with some alien malady and every able-bodied crewmember has been working extra time and split shifts. Due to clashing schedules, Spock and I haven't been alone together long enough to do more than touch in passing.

When I suggested a way to remedy this sad state of affairs, Mr. I-Am-In-Control-of-My-Hormones gave me an officious, smug little lecture about duty, professionalism, and the danger of allowing oneself to be distracted in times of crisis. Evidently, the needs of the many outweigh the urges of the two, or something like that.

It was quite undeserved. All I had done was make a simple observation that we were both going to be on the graveyard shift on the bridge tomorrow. With the helmsman needing a break at some point, we would be alone for at least 30 minutes. I openly mused that perhaps we could put those minutes to "good use", and perhaps even record our activities for future reflection and private recreational purposes. In response, he gave me this "I cannot believe what you are saying" look and a lecture. It seems that my suggestion was something that was completely irresponsible, something that he would never even consider.

Well, we will just see about that.

I know a thing or two about Mr. In-Control. Oh, I could write a book, let me tell you. I know he is feeling this abstinence every bit as much as me. Just because he's all po-faced about it does not mean he isn't feeling the lack of wall banging, ear biting, gut clenching, knee weakening, orgasmic, roaring… intercourse. Ha! He forgets that I know what he likes, and besides… he should know that you _never_ say never to Uhura.

Let the campaign begin.

Stage one.

I let myself into Mr. Professional's quarters. Vulcans have an exquisitely acute sense of smell, so I intend to leave him a little message. When he goes to bed… he'll get it.

I begin by stripping off my clothing, getting his pyjamas, and rubbing them all over my body. I hold the soft fabric to my face and breathe deeply, I can't help but groan. If his scent affects my insensitive human senses like this, then my message should fuse his synapses.

My next step is to re-enact a one-person action replay of the night after last year's Christmas party. I had made the mistake of dancing with Captain Octopus-hands. My Vulcan seemed his usual composed self, but I knew better. The slight twitch of a muscle in his cheek, the rigidity of his shoulders, and the almost imperceptible tightening of his hands behind his back, were all signs of that dark possessive emotion I've termed "Vulcan jealousy". He was on a not-so-slow-boil when we got to his room after the party and he had me. Oh, did he have me: against the wall, from the side, on the floor, in the bed, from behind, over the couch, with his mouth, and sometimes, creative combinations of several of these at once. All in all, it was a long…hard…night, if you know what I mean.

Now, as I roam his quarters - rubbing here and wriggling there - these happy memories are working like a charm, and I find myself climaxing almost as often as I did during the original event. I know it's playing dirty, but in my defence, it's been a long drought.

Feeling the satisfaction of a job well done, I get dressed and leave, but not after making his bed oh-so-neatly. With an evil grin, I wonder what he will think when he realizes that, for the finale, I sat on his pillow.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Campaign

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I receive no money for this work.

**Stage two. **

After a refreshing sleep, I wake up and quickly get ready, knowing that Spock will be in the mess hall.

I arrive to see him sitting at a table with the captain, the doctor, and a few guys from engineering. It is obvious that they are having a working meal, and being a consummate professional, I don't want to distract him. Therefore, I sit across the room by myself, eating a light breakfast of yogurt and a banana, while I half-heartedly review my reports for the coming shift.

As I eat my banana, I let my Vulcan Commander be my inspiration. I am sure he would be happy to know that he is on my mind so much. I am _so_ inspired that I dip the elongated fruit into the yogurt and lick the creamy liquid off. It is not long before I discover that with great care, I can get nearly the whole thing into my mouth and clean off its rich tangy coating with one smooth sucking movement. I find this to be an absorbing undertaking and am surprised when the yogurt container is soon empty. I am also surprised by a soft gasp from an engineer at the next table when I pop the banana into my mouth and firmly bite off the end. As I slowly chew , I look around and notice several red faces, along with one set of vivid green ears.

Oh dear, it seems that I _have_ become a distraction to him, after all.

With breakfast finished, I rise, take one last innocent look around, and sashay out of the mess.

**Stage three. **

I enter the bridge at the beginning of a short shift, just as Spock is about to leave. Passing him as he goes toward the lift, I walk to my station and sit. It only takes a quick glance for me to confirm that my entrance seems to have been noticed. I suppose it was a boring shift.

Leaning down, I slowly unzip my left boot and pull it off. Hmmm… I could have _sworn_ that there was a hard lump of something stuck underneath my toe, but now there seems to be nothing there. How odd. Of course, this is when I realise that, in my rush to get to the bridge; I have put on the wrong boots. These boots are black, like the ones I usually wear with my uniform, but they go all the way up to my knees and have heels a full two inches higher than regulations allow. I just cannot _imagine_ how I made such a mistake. You see, I usually wear these for quite a different activity.

I slip my foot back into the boot and put my foot up on the worktop. As I lean forward to zip it up, I realize that I have not heard the lift yet. Something must have delayed my commander. I tug on the zipper, only to find that it has inexplicably become stuck. My great leader gallantly comes over, offers to assist, and slowly pulls the zipper up while running his other hand up the underside of my leg. The man obviously has some experience with boots and the zipping process.

I politely thank him and he graciously excuses my lapse from proper dress code. As he takes his leave of me, I drop my booted foot to the floor and stand to settle my foot. Bending over, I run my hands up the tight fitted length of the boot to position it correctly. Then, I straighten to see my commander standing frozen at the lift with an expression like he has just swallowed a raw pork chop. My only response is to smile very professionally, sit back down, and commence my shift.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Campaign

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I receive no money for this work.

**Stage four. **

Later that evening, I return to the bridge for the graveyard shift. Spock is in the command chair, but he is not sitting his usual poised but languid way. He seems quite ill at ease, and I can't help but wonder if he slept well.

Ensign Rison is at the helm. He is a burley, athletic type, who is absolutely dedicated to his duties. I greet both men cheerfully but professionally. Spock simply nods, while Rison says hello and returns to his screens. I cross to my station and lean forward to check the monitors. As my short uniform skirt rides up, I hear a soft sound, something between a gasp and a strangled moan.

I immediately realize the problem. My commander is upset because, once again, I am not quite in my correct uniform. Earlier, it had been the boots. But this time, I have forgotten my awful thick red uniform bloomers. Not that I am naked or anything indecent like that I have on a lovely, black lace thong that I got last shore leave. I suppose from Spock's angle it may appear that I'm not wearing any underwear at all. Oh well. I guess I had better sit for most of the shift.

I sit decorously in my chair and I swing around to face my commander. He is still in his chair, and is turned slightly in my direction. His eyes are closed and one hand is pinching the bridge of his nose. He seems to be taking deep breaths.

My expression is one of utmost concern. "Commander? Are you well?"

He looks at me and replies, "Yes, thank you Lieutenant." His face is set but his eyes are blazing.

As the shift progresses, I can't help but notice how often I find myself reaching up or bending over in performance my duties. I also can't help but notice that my commander's face appears to be getting greener and greener.

After several hours, Ensign Rison rises for his break. Spock says, "The shift is quiet Ensign Rison, and you have worked long hours recently. You may take a 90 minute break."

Grinning happily, Ensign Rison leaves. We are alone, at last. Spock steps up to me.

"You look tired," I say.

"I was forced to sleep on the floor in my dining area during my last break," he says conversationally.

"Oh?" I say innocently.

"Indeed," he replies, "my quarters were permeated by a most striking aroma. I could not sleep on my bed or my couch."

"My, my. Did you still manage to sleep well?" I inquire.

"I did not," he replies, "I have seldom been as tired or slept as poorly."

"Commander, I am sorry to hear that," I declare, looking up at him with sweet concern.

He grips the top of my arms firmly, and I look into his eyes. There, I see a mixture of admiration, resignation… and insatiable lust.

"Yesterday, you expressed a wish to engage in certain activities," he says, his voice grating and deep.

"Yes, but I understand if that is unacceptable to you. I would not want you to compromise your standards of behaviour …"

He roughly turns me around and slides a hot, long-fingered hand down my back, to the bottom of my skirt, then up again over the bare cheek of my ass. His whole body shudders with need.

Leaning into me, he whispers softly in my ear, "The combined effects of several events since that conversation have caused me to reconsider. You are truly a dangerous woman."

But before he goes any further, his strong, deep voice echoes across the bridge, "Computer, lock doors and engage soundproofing, command override only. Dim lights one-third, record on secure camera, and send the image direct to Commander Spock's personal computer, encryption code U 9734." As he says the words, I have a feeling that they will be the last ones uttered on the bridge for quite some time.

His hand begins to stroke the back of my neck and then journeys around to my face. Very soon, two fingers are slipping into my month. I bite down firmly and suck hard on them, and the rest, as they say, is history….

The End

_If this entertained please review. It will be much appreciated. _


End file.
